But I says, “No, we wun’t run no risks.”
He wuz afeard, an’ so wuz I. We hadn’t even our old flint-locks with us. They would a’boostered up our courage consid’rable. I wuz right, though, ’bout stayin’ where we wuz. We shouldn’t a hed time to get halfway to our boat, ’fore they come up out o’ the hole, an’ begun to shovel the sand in agin. I couldn’t mek out but four shov’lin’, but I never thought much on it at fust. When the hole, though, got purty nigh full—you could sort o’ tell by the banks—I couldn’t then mek out but four men. I strained an’ looked till there wuz dark spots a-swimmin’ ’fore my eyes, and then I whispered to John—for we wuz to the wind’ard on the men—sayin’, “John, how many do you mek out a-shov’lin’?”
“Four,” says he, “only four, an’ I been countin’ ’em agin an’ agin.”
“That’s all I kin mek out uther. Didn’t five on ’em come ashore?”
“I know thar wuz five,” says John; “I see them five jist ez plain ez I see them ere four now. I counted five on ’em in two dif’runt places.”
The hole wuz filled, they spatted on the sand with their shovels—that ere made me all the time think o’ buryin’ somebody—an’ then them four sailors went back to the yawl.
John an’ me waited and watched another long, tejus time—I suppose they wuz a-waitin fur the best chance to git their yawl through the surf. It’s easier to come on, you know, than it is to git back agin.
Through that ere gap ’tween the hills, though, we see the yawl ez they rowed off to the ship, and we breathed consid’rable easier. Anchor wuz huv up, the sails unclewed, an’ the ship tacked off to suth’ard.
The days is long that time o’ year, an’ it wuz well onto sundown afore the ship got under way. When we see she wuz headin’ off, we made fur our skiff.